


Two as one

by Kaydalen



Series: Tainted [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Light Angst, Post-Dragon Age: Origins, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 10:51:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14747451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaydalen/pseuds/Kaydalen
Summary: "Heroes came and triumphed. They were celebrated and honoured. Faded, Withered and died. New heroes rose and the cycle started anew. But eventually their time would come as well, no matter how far they tried to run from it."Olivia Cousland has failed on her quest to find a cure for the Calling. Determined to at least spend the time she has left with Leliana she reunites with her love at Halamshiral.





	Two as one

The gaze of countless nobles behind the gate were resting on the Wardens figure, as she leaped off her horse. Their whispers rose from the silence. Immediately two elven butlers hurried towards her to take the mare off her hands and lead her to the stables. The Wardens eyes were glued to her for a split second, as she was reminded of all her belongings leaving with her, but she couldn't worry about that right now.

  
Halamshiral towered impressively in front of the Grey Warden and she lingered for a while to take in the whole picture. The high towers and countless lights contrasted with the dark night they were embedded in, painted the palace with an inviting touch. But she shouldn't let this first impression fool her. She was a Grey Warden now, but had been a noble herself back in the days. A Cousland.  
Even though the harmless intrigues the ladies in Ferelden weaved in their spare time couldn't even compare to the Game being played in Orlais, she did have her fair share of experience. She was aware what she was dealing with.  
Just one misstep, a single uncalled for word and her name would be found on a black list some noble maintained to keep track of who – mostly accidently - dared to offend him and had to lose some progress in the Great Game for it. One way or the other.  
Orlais offered countless fates worse than death.

  
_I guess it's a good thing I don't have anything to lose_ , it crossed the Wardens mind.  
Frantically she fumbled with her suits fastenings. It was buttoned way too tight, nearly choked her, probably due to the fact it hadn't been tailored for her to fit in and she was still trying to get it right while she was approaching the gate flanked by two guards who were blocking the entrance.  
Her face was hidden underneath a plain black mask in shape of an owl.

  
At first it had been her plan to return to Ferelden. Actually, she eventually did. Tired and exhausted she had arrived at Skyhold, only to be caught by two jung and overly eager guards, who had been patrolling outside the castles walls. They had actually discussed introducing her to the cells and laughed nervously at her demands to receive an audience with the Inquisitor. The Inquisitor, the Spymaster, the Commander, anyone, at that point she hadn't even cared anymore, she just wanted someone to listen to her.  
It had taken her quite some time and a scarily high amount of her art of persuasion, which had already been useful during her travels while the Fifth Blight had tainted the land, until they had agreed to let her in at least before she was freezing to death.  
What the Inquisitor had accomplished and build for herself had been a truly impressive sight. The castle had been breathtaking, her soldiers well trained and the refugees taken care of, offered a chance for a fresh start.

  
The Warden had been lead up the massive stairs towards the broad leaf door and right into the throne room. A dwarf armed with a crossbow and tons of chest hair had already expected her.  
He had introduced himself to her as Varric and even though he hadn't been too convinced about her actually being the Hero of Ferelden, he had shared the fact with her that all the members of the Inquisiton had left for an important mission. What it had been about or where they had been going he couldn't tell, at least not until he wasn't sure about her identity.  
He had even declined her offer to prove herself by sharing the colour of the Spymasters undergarments, even if the Warden had been sure he had been pretty tempted, according to the smirk which had rested on his lips.  
He would have never been able to verify this information and expect to live to tell about it, he had told her while laughing. But before they had been able to discuss this matter any further a Grey Warden had joined the conversation and had turned things around.  
His name had been Blackwall and the Warden didn't trust him. Even if he had vouched for her and kneeled before her in admiration. Something about him had felt wrong, even if she wasn't able to put her finger on it. He even claimed to remember her, that he had met her before, even if she didn't.

  
Though she had decided to keep quiet about it, especially because he had been the reason Varric was finally convinced she was actually the Hero of Ferelden and worthy to trust with the information, that the Inquisition had just left half a day ago for Halamshiral. They had offered her to await their return, but the Warden didn't exactly have the luxury of time, so she had insisted to follow them.  
All of them had come to the conclusion she would attract unwanted attention if she arrived in her Silverit armor, so Varric had relinquished her a suit once custom made for the Inquisitor which hadn't been to her liking. Black and green weren't exactly her colours, but she didn't really have another choice.  
So the Warden had changed and strapped all her scarce belongings to the back of a mare borrowed from the Inquisitions stables to immediately depart for Halamshiral.

The Frostback mountains in the relentless colds clutches had greeted her back like an old friend.  
Against her own expectations she hadn't been able to catch up with the Inquisitions caravan, as she followed its tracks to the Winterpalace. A blizzard had caught her off guard, nearly frozen her limps stiff. It had erased all the traces she had been relying on and left her disoriented. Without a guide she had to find the way by herself. It had been difficult, but she had eventually managed. Though she could still feel the damp spot from her shoulders downwards where the snow had wet her clothes. Her Commanders coat hadn't been able to save her from that.

And now there she was. The Hero of Ferelden before the gates of Halamshiral, in a green suit too tight around the hips, with a collar too high for her liking, a ridiculously fancy piece of cloth wrapped around her bodys centre, that took her breath away and she just felt out of place. Unsafe. She was used to her sword at her side, her shield on her back, always in reach to protect her from harm. She had actually considered bringing her weapons with her into the palace, but had thrashed the thought at the last minute. It was just too risky, too suspicious, would put her on unwanted display.  
So the Warden had to adapt and fight her own battes with words – and fists, if necessary though not preferably. It was difficult to admit, but her ability to maneuver in combat was crippled. Due to a serious injury acquired in a fight with a group of bandits who had declared a lonely Warden easy prey, she had troubles to even walk upright. She had managed to fight them all off, but her ankle had been shattered in the process and her own knowledge about the handling with poultices and herbs had always been limited, so she only cared for it very sloppily. It didn't heal properly and since back then she was limping noticeably, was regularly in pain.  
All in all the Warden was in a pretty sorry state.

  
But she still had parts of her dignity left and she scraped all of it together as she bowed before the guards in front of the gate towering before her. She missed the comfortable sound of metal stroking against metal. She couldn't help yearning for the weight of her armor on her shoulders, which was currently protected only by her mare sitting in Halamshirals stables.  
„Olivia Cousland, Warden Commander“, she introduced herself, didn't tell them about her being the Hero of Ferelden on purpose, but hoped these words alone would gain her access to the court festivities. Her poor charisma probably didn't do her any favor though. A lot of Orlesians would pretend to be someone they weren't to take part in the Great Game, if they didn't own an invitation. What did make her any different?  
„And?“, the left one of the guards barked, seemingly unimpressed, even if it was hard to read his facial impression behind the mask. It was a plain one, like the one she chose for herself, just his one didn't have a noticeable shape; his partners neither.

  
Charming.

  
„I'm here with the Inquisition“, the Warden fabricated, as she couldn't come up with another reason for her attendance from the top of her head. She couldn't possibly tell them the real reason.  
„I'm a little late, I .. was hindered.“  
If she had to be honest with herself she wasn't even aware of this 'real reason' herself. She should have just remained at Skyhold and patiently await the Inquisitions return. Get comfortable, get some rest. But she hated to spend her time being idle. Especially when it was scarce.  
Maybe that was it.  
Maybe she felt guilty for spending so much time screwing around desperately trying to solve a problem she couldn't fix. Felt ashamed for throwing away all the memories they would have been able to make in the past years, trading them for a seemingly endless inconclusive hunt for absolution from the fate forced upon her.  
And now time was running out. She was trying to catch it and keep it, but it slipped her fingers like water.  
She had to see her, tell her, hold her, while she was still able to.

„Sure and I'm the Empress' lover“, the second of the guards snorted in amusement und underneath the mask his twirly moustache vibrated in union with this and his partners laughter, like he had just told a highly intelligent joke. Frustrated the Warden gritted her teeth. This was going to be difficult.  
„Listen, Lady Lavellan won't be sold on that you're keeping me here“, she took up her previous lie and added some additional layers. She hoped throwing the Inquisitors name in would maybe do the trick.  
„Oh, I'm so scared already“, whined the first one in staged horror, „Watch out, the knife ear is on her way to pierce us with these pointy ears.“  
Before the Warden managed to slap a disgusted comment to this rude insult in their faces, a fourth voice anticipated:

  
„You should choose your words more careful, gentlemen.“

  
The guards turned around in surprise and the Wardens hand snapped to the invisible pommel of the non-existent sword at her side instinctively.  
A woman with short black hair and a brash red suit, a wide scar cutting the left side of her jaw, closed in on the gate from the other side. She seemed very self confident, her steps were stable and determined, her tread controlled. Her arms and legs were obviously muscular and the Warden could tell she was a warrior. One who could probably strike down these insults for any guard with one hand tied behind her back.  
On a blue sash wrapped around her torso flaunted the Inquisitions eye.

  
„Lady Pentaghast“, the guard with the moustache gasped and saluted, „I beg your pardon.“  
„Is there a problem here?“, she wanted to know rather harshly, without taking note of his apology. Her stony glance shot in the Wardens direction and she felt herself being eyed thoroughly.  
„This woman claims to be with the Inquisition“, the other man informed her, „I will take care of her, if you wish.“  
„What is your name?“. Lady Pentaghast wanted to know from the Warden, thoughtfully furrowed her brows, like she was trying to recall a faded memory.  
„Olivia Cousland, my Lady“, she introduced herself again and bowed a second time, „Warden Commander and ..“  
She hesitated.  
„Hero of Ferelden. We have corresponded before. We arranged a meeting.“  
Another lie. Half of it at least. She indeed did correspond with the Inquisition before, though they surely didn't arrange a meeting. But she hoped Lady Pentaghast would get the message.  
Silence. The Wardens heart skipped a beat. It would be all over if the warrior would decline her.  
„Ah, yes, we have been expecting you“, Lady Pentaghast answered eventually and a smile curled her lips, „I suspect the blizzard is the reason for your late arrival?“  
„That is indeed true.“

 

While frantically mumbling apologies the guards opened the gate and as the Warden finally entered the Winterpalaces front yard she started to feel uncomfortable. All the curious nobles eyes around them were glued to her form and she just couldn't shake them off. Instinctively she straightened her back and corrected her tread, even if her ankle was giving her a hard time.  
Lady Pentaghast gave her a nod and she elbowed her way through the crowd, leaving a swath for the Warden to follow through, until giggling noble woman closed it again behind her. Soon the message of the arrival of the Hero of Ferelden would spread throughout the soiree like wildfire.  
The Warden had to reach Leliana before the gossips did.  
The further she closed in on the Winterpalace the higher the pressure on her ears which made it difficult to concentrate.

  
„What a surprise“, her rescuer talked to her while they were crossing the front yard, „I did not expect you to return. You had mentioned in your last report that you were busy with an important mission.“  
It was an observation, not a question, but the Warden still felt the need to answer her. Bitterly she twisted her mouth. When she had contacted the Inquisition back then she hadn't been forced to listen to the Darkspawns wailing that was driving her insane just yet and mercilessly reminded her that her end was near.  
„I was able to complete my investigations“, the Warden let her know, but chose every single word carefully. She didn't want to reveal too much before she was able to talk to Leliana. „I was already at Skyhold and was told to find you here at Halamshiral. So I followed you.“  
Skifully she switched the topic, groaned silently in pain as she had to drag her shattered ankle up the countless steps to Halamshirals double door. With every step the muffled music and the buzz in her ears turned up.

  
„Who told you that?“ Lady Pentaghast furrowed her brows and her expression was suddenly hard to read. It was an unhealthy mix between disapproval and relief. She was sure she really wanted to skin the one responsible alive as much as reward him.  
„A dwarf named Varric“, the Warden revealed while a second pair of guards opened up the doors for them. Clunky they opened up, but without drawing attention with squeaking of unoiled hinges. Light and heat flooded towards her and instinctively she rubbed her cold fingers together that started to tingle and angled her face towards the warm breeze. The lobby was already pompous that all the kitsch reflecting the candlelight of countless chandeliers was nearly blinding her.

  
„Remind me to cut out the blabbermouths tongue“, her companion grunted, but let the Warden know through the tone of her voice that she actually didn't mean it, „Nonetheless it is an honour to finally meet you. It is one thing to hear about the Hero but another to see her.“  
Considering her sorry state the Warden wasn't sure if this was supposed to be a compliment or an insult.  
„We all aren't what we used to be anymore. People forget. I'm not an expection.“  
She avoided the surprised gaze of Lady Pentaghast who didn't expect this kind of answer. Heroes came and triumphed. They were celebrated and honoured. Faded, Withered and died. New heroes rose and the cycle started anew. But eventually their time would come as well, no matter how far they tried to run from it. It was hard to say which phase she had entered herself, but she was pretty sure she was close to death.

  
Both warriors came to a hold right before the entrance to the ballroom. The Warden felt the gaze of countless nobles tingling on her skin, their mumbled gossip reached her ears, merged with the muffled music of the string orchestra. Her mask made her feel kind of secure, but she knew it didn't offer full protection.  
Some of the glances she received were like poison. Slow, snuck up on her, lingered, killed her slowly. Others were like a flaming whiplash. Thrown at her hastily to get a sloppy grip on the whole picture as quick as possible, finishing it at second glance. At the third glance they had already spun their own stories about her and shared them with whoever wanted to hear it.

  
„Why are you really here?“

  
For the same reason she had been traveling for all these years. She still told herself she was doing it for 'the greater good'. Told herself her goal was still to spare the other Wardens from the agony and death the Calling inflicted.  
She was still telling herself these things to hide the truth. She wasn't doing it for the Order, not really. Not even for herself, that would be a lie as well.  
She was doing it for Leliana and no one else. Her thoughts circled only around her, she just couldn't control it. Her mission had the sole purpose not to disappoint her, to find something to keep alive what she called home. She had lost so much, but still ..  
The Warden took a deep breath and the air escaped her again. Her limps were shaky. But still .. No, because of that she had to be the one to confess to her that she had failed.

  
She could feel it. Hear it. On better days the Calling wasn't more than a distant scratching at her thoughts, easy to ignore. On worse days the cries of the Darkspawn drove her insane. Fueled her with so much fear that she pounded against her temples with her fists and tried to drown them out with the sound of her own voice. To make it stop.  
But as of late she was hearing something different. A song. A dark melody, as beautiful as it was dire. Mesmerizing as it was repulsive. Her mind drifted far away, drowned in the exceptional synergy of sounds, threatened to lose herself in it. Whenever she eventually returned to the surface she caught herself repeating the song infinitely, humming and singing loudly and clearly, distant staring into the fire, her arms wrapped around her knees and bobbing back and forth. In time to the melody. Like in a trance.

  
She had never felt so much fear before in her entire life.

  
„I have to see Leliana“, the Warden whispered without answering Lady Pentaghasts previous question, „Please.“  
Finally she voiced what she had been holding back for so long. Finally her wishes found a sympathetic ear. Finally what she desired was within reach. Even if she had failed on her quest for the cure, she wanted to at least win Leliana over. For years they had been separated. They had exchanged letters, of course, but were still running around in circles and the Warden nearly feared their love could have faded away in the meantime. She had to be sure.  
A smile curled her companions lips. Barely noticeable, like she actually didn't want anyone to see.

  
„I won't stop you, my Lady.“

  
The wall still separating her and Leliana crumbled as the doors swung open and revelead before the Warden a completely different, even if not totally unfamiliar, world than she had known before. In this ballroom Thedas didn't exist anymore. It was its own country, unknown terrain, a battlefield, where only the Great Game mattered.  
The dancefloor took up the whole halls center and was illuminated by a massive chandelier and countless candlesticks. Only a handful of nobles had gathered here and competed in the most bearable and least deadly way possible in Halamshiral. Maybe they were telling themselves they were dancing to blow off steam, to actually enjoy themselves, but every step taken was like a chess move – they couldn't take it back.

  
Fascinated as well as in awe the Warden followed one of the red velvet carpets, which were trailing the length of the dance floor, the heart of the ballroom, only to reunite again at the far end of the room. Useless kitsch covered the walls, made the pompous hall feel way too crowded. Valuable Statues and paintings and frescos reminded the guests over and over again where they were.  
While the nobles not that versatile with words didn't dare to leave the dancefloor as the real fight was being fought up here. Words turned to swords, gazes to daggers, touches to poison. Whoever was lost for words strung himself up.  
On the surface everyone enjoyed a harmless gathering, but underneath the facade a fight was being fought that could messure with her battle against the Archdemon.  
Lady Pentaghast caught up with the Warden and guided her, while they both pushed slowly through the crowd, careful not to step on the seam of someones dress.  
The three glass doors on the other side of the room were opened up wide and a cold breeze let her smell undefinable scents as it played about her nose.

  
Her company pushed her forward gently and pointed at a person only a few metres away from them. The Warden froze in her movements. Fingertips touched her tense shoulders and slightly shoved her forward. Lady Pentaghasts quiet voice was nearly swallowed by the static clogging her hearing as she was mumbling: „Good luck, Lady Cousland.“  
There she was. The Nightingale. Right in front of her. Dressed in the Inquisitions colours. Her suit complimented her figure, made her look just as graceful as she would have in a dress.

  
Lackadaisically Leliana was watching the crowd, leaned against the wall right beside a waist-high side table where she had placed her drink. But her body language was showing her that she was analysing everything happening in the ballroom perfectly. How her slim fingers were playing absentmindedly with the blue cloth around her hips, her brows furrowed concentrated, her blue eyes underneath darting sedulously left and right and her mouth opened, formed a smile and closed again.  
She was still the woman the Warden had fallen in love with all these years ago. Even if her words were harsher now, even if she was more strict with herself and the world around, the Warden managed to spot right in this moment that all these changes were shallow. Barely faded memories would be able to get through to her. She would be able to get through to her and drag back to the surface what once were and could be again. But it demanded some skill, considering the situation. Even if she would have loved to enfold Leliana in her arms, to kiss and caress her, she knew it wasn't appopriate and gulped down the thought. It sat heavy in her stomach and caused an unpleasant pain. Leliana was part of the Inquisition now, she wasn't allowed to forget about that. An open display of affection at a place like this would not only cast the Spymaster in a negative light but the Inquisition as well.

  
At idle speed the Warden approached the Nightingale and grimaced with agony as she was forcing herself to walk in a straight line. Incidentally she corrected the placement of her mask on the bridge of her nose, made sure it hid her face completely and tugged grimly one last time at the tall and tight collar of her suit. She leaned against the wall two steps away from her lover – the both of them were now only separated by the little side table with drinks.  
Casually she picked up one of the glasses and turned the sheer liquid into a little swirl as she was turning it between her fingers, her gaze glued to the dancefloor. A tongue licked dry lips and she tried desperately to calm her jittery beating heart as her head was looking for the right words at the same time. Right now she didn't fell like the Warden Commander but an inexperienced teenager who didn't know how to talk to a girl or anyone at all.

  
When the string orchestra finished its current song and was rewarded with polite applaus the Warden raised her voice:  
„Do you see what Lady De Luncet is wearing?“  
Contemptibly she wrinkled her nose and followed the one just mentioned with her eyes – Member of a big noble family, with relatives in Ferelden and the Free Marches alike, as far as she could tell. Their signature feature was the awful combination of colours in their evening attire, the extravagantly lavish masks and hats and a ridiculously loud voice. She wasn't aware Orlais was punished with representatives of their species as well.

  
„How disgraceful.“

  
The Warden glanced in Lelianas direction who had to have realized for sure that she was subtly being entangled in a conversation. Warily her blue eyes rested on her, her brows raised. Obviously she was rummaging around in her imaginary list on names and faces to match her appearance.  
„At least she knows how to draw attention“, the Nightingale finally answered and the Warden had to control herself not to heave a sigh. This familiar voice she hadn't been able to listen to for years was pouring over her like honey. The pitch a bit lower as she remembered, painted with a sharp undertone but still unmistakable. Tears flooded her eyes.

  
„The same can't be said about you“, Lelianas continued her train of thought, turned her torso slightly to face and eye her from head to toe. It was probably very common that someone tried to get into contact with the Inquisition or the Inquistitor itself through their advisors, but the Warden surely had not voiced enough interest right away to be considered as such. So far she was an unknown. „I can not remember that I have already seen you this evening.“

  
„It would indeed surprise me if you had“, the Warden countered and didn't take her eyes of the former Bard, „Because that would mean I'm not playing the Game that well anymore.“  
She had to be honest; she was never really part of the Great Game, but somehow she had to keep the conversation alive. In case Leliana was still as observant as she remembered her to be she would soon expose her lie and confront her with it. If she was unlucky she would maybe just mix some poison in her drink undetected and kill her. Set on edge by her own thoughts she wrapped her fingers around her glass more tightly.

  
The Nightingale examined her further; dismissive, thoughtful, confused. Did she already suspect something?  
„Where are you from?“  
„Shouldn't my accent tell you?“  
„What's wrong about wanting to hear it from you?“  
„Does it actually matter?“  
It was important to always answer a question with another question, to pass the duty to give an answer to the second participant of the conversation.  
Leliana couldn't hide a smirk and the Warden had to support herself against the side table as her knees turned weak. Five years were a really long time ..

  
„Alright then, you are from Ferelden. What is your business in Orlais?“  
„What is the usual business for a Ferelden in Orlais?“  
„You tell me.“  
Casually the Warden took a sip and shivered as the alkohol nearly burned her tongue and left a bitter aftertaste. They didn't serve 'Grey Warden' here as well, did they?  
Knowing she leaned towards Leliana. „A woman, darling, a woman.“  
The Nightingales emotions froze on her face and distant she turned her head into the opposite direction. Again the string orchestra finished a track and the Warden joined in the applause to give Leliana a moment to collect herself.

  
As the dainty sounds of the violin filled the room again the former Bard noted: „She has to mean a lot to you that you were willing to travel this far for her.“ Her voice had a bitter undertone and her conversation partner watched her regain control over her facial muscles to make herself even harder to read than before.  
„She means ..“, the Warden paused to draw a deep breath. Her blue eyes were resting on her again, waiting curiously, though still warily. She tried to paint her words with as many emotions as possible so that they may got through to her. Maybe she would remember the first time she breathed these words into her ear back at camp.

  
„.. **everything** to me.“

  
The people around them faded, the music fell silent, the static was back and the Warden und the Spymaster were just staring at each other.  
It was like someone had flipped a switch.  
Lelianas eyes widened. Surprised, shocked maybe. Wet they shined in the dim light. Her lips parted, but no sound left her throat. Her brows furrowed and she couldn't tell if she was angry or close to bursting out into tears.

  
„For the most beautiful woman in Thedas I would travel to hell and back“, the Warden added grimly and Lelianas walls crumbled, „I'm sure you understand.“  
„You“, was the only word she managed to breath out and it still nearly got stuck in her throat. She pressed her lips together and held back whatever words were burning on her tongue, seething and the Warden could tell she was close to losing it.

  
„You know“, she sighed and studied her reflection on the surface of the clear liquid in the glass in her hand. It blurred when she gave it a swirl with her wrist.  
„If my journey has taught me anything then that life is short. Too short to waste it with hunting something that may not even exist.“  
She raised her chin and stared up to the ceiling, avoided it to look directly at Leliana. Stubborn she fixated on the weak flickering flame of a single candle on the chandelier, in midst of all the powerful dancing blazes.  
„And even if it did, could I still profit from it?“  
The flame guttered tiredly and shrank noticeably.  
„Or will it eat me up from inside and destroy everything I ..“  
The Warden choked on the words she intended to say and eventually lost them. The pain and the insight, that she had shortened the time she would have been able to spend with Leliana by 10 years only to chase a dead dream, was gushing down her stomach like hot wax, left a burning trail.

  
The candlelight died and she lost her focus.

  
„What I .. For what I ..“  
Her voice died away and she had to shut her eyes for a moment.  
Slowly the music tuned up again. The voices returned. The sound of feet on the ground and the clinging of glasses. She was able to feel her fingertips again and hastily she wiped the cold sweat off her palms.  
„Ten years are a very long time.“  
A hand on the Wardens shoulder brought her back to reality, out of her trance and she raised her head. Leliana was directly looking at her with these bright blue eyes swimming in tears. She didn't wipe them away, she just let it happen.  
Silently she was struggling for the right words, opened her mouth, only to shut it again and pressed her lips together before she was giving herself another try.

  
„Everything is fine. You're home now“, she whispered.

  
The Warden would have been less shocked if she had shouted at her. She had been prepared for had, had imagined this scene in her head over and over. How she was accusing her for being gone when everyone needed her most; especially Leliana. She had expected tears and even a blow to the face to punish her, leave a wound which should remind her of what she had done for a long time to come. Leliana should have raged and screamed and cried and blamed her for the agony and the worries she had caused and it would have felt right, but this ..

  
„Leliana, I .. I am so sorry.“  
„You are home now“, the Bard repeated dull, firmly, her fingers dug into the Wardens shoulder. She could feel that they were shaking.  
But she knew how to handle it. Handle her. Adapt to this new situation.  
Inviting she reached out to the redhead and brought her other hand behind her back to bow before her.

  
„May I have this dance, Lady Leliana?“

  
The bard accepted her hand and their fingers intertwined. They turned back to the glorious whole they once were.  
Slowly the Warden led the Spymaster to the dance floor, didn't make an effort to hide her limping anymore. Together they strode down the steps and the Warden couldn't help but take note of how beautifully and gracefully the former Bard moved. She was mesmerized by the sway of her hips, her steady steps, her hands being placed on her hips and her shoulder. Though she seemed to be much taller than she remembered her.

  
They were so close the Warden was able to count her dancing partners eyelashes. Maybe they were too close than the etiquette dictated them to, but both of them couldn't care less about etiquette right now. Even the Great Game seemed far away, went off somewhere in the distance, while the lovers were playing their own game as they spun in time to the music over the dance floor. With vigorous steps and more energetic than ever. Like this they were able to forget everything around them as they lost themselves in the song making their blood boil.

  
Lost themselves in each other.

  
Two doomed and lonely souls reunited as a unique unit. Every little detail they used to know about their partner which had gotten lost over the years they learned anew.  
Lelianas hand on the Wardens back left a flaming trail.

  
„You still didn't tell me about your woman, Lady Cousland“, the Spymaster purred as her lover held her close to her chest for a moment only to set her free again a brief moment later. She could clearly smell Andrastes Grace.  
„She doesn't like being talked about, Spymaster“, the Warden played along and frantically tried to ignore her ankle screaming in protest considering the sudden strain, „I'm sorry to disappoint you.“  
„It indeed has to be an interesting lady that is waiting for you“, Leliana smirked as their enthusiastic dance drew the attention of quite a crowd of nobles. Like waves surging against the beach they flowed across the marble floor. Like a chilly autumn breeze catching and whirling the leaves they circled around each other in a tight embrace. A steady pace, following a certain path, their steps full of gracefulness, perfection, pride.

  
Love.

  
„I can tell you so much, my Lady.“  
One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three. Skifully the Warden relieved her ankle, dragged her leg behind at just the right time, integrated it in their dance so that their movements seemed even more smoothly.  
„She is beautiful, deadly and has a highly ridiculous obsession for shoes.“  
Leliana couldn't help but laugh amused, until it painted her cheeks pink and made her eyes sparkle.  
There she was again. The woman she had fallen in love with. The Warden knew she could be found somewhere beneath this icy facade and it had just required some tact to pull her back to the surface. The awareness that Leliana had opened up to her again brought back this burning passion in her chest. No one else was able to draw this reaction from her.  
„You are impossible.“  
„I'm sure you meant to say handsome.“  
„I sure did.“  
Surprisingly the Spymaster pulled away the Wardens weak leg and her heart leaped into her throat in an instant. But the expected fall didn't occur.

  
„You know that I love you, right?“

  
It was a statement more than it was a question.  
Leliana held onto her tightly so she wouldn't drop, only a few inches above the floor, their faces so close together the Warden could feel her breath tingling on her cheek. A last instance, their last dancemove, the end of the game.  
With the hand not occupied with holding her lover close she gently removed her owl shaped mask.

  
„It couldn't hurt to remind me how much“, the Warden whispered and she shivered all over as her partners breath quickened.  
But Leliana hesitated.  
„We can't ..“, she started to protest, but the former noble cut her off.  
„I don't care.“  
She nearly gulped down the words again, they hitched in her throat. Desperately she was trying to hold back tears of joy.

  
„I really don't care.“

  
The Wardens and the Spymasters passionate kiss caused a chorus of outrage among the soiree. Their eyelids fluttered, they quietly gasped and moaned, barely managed to separate their lips again to take a breath.  
„I love you, Leli.“  
„I love you too, Liv.“  
And nothing else mattered as their hearts beat as one once more.

Until the Warden couldn't help but unconsciously hum a dark melody.


End file.
